


All I want

by Ms_Faker



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Number Five | The Boy, Manipulation, Possessive Number Five | The Boy, Pseudo-Incest, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27343831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Faker/pseuds/Ms_Faker
Summary: Five, billionaire, the fifth adopted son of Reginald Hargreeves, has everything he could possibly want, except what he actually wants.If there’s one thing he knows is that life is a cruel, wicked thing with a sense of morbid humour to boot. He had the money to buy anything, to do whatever he wanted except of course to have the one person he wanted by his side.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves, Carl Cooper/Sissy Cooper, Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz, Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	All I want

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for Aeron12, who messaged me at 5 in the morning to tell me there’s not enough ABO Fiveya stories, and that I should totally write one. Well, you asked for it, and here it is! With love, a very tired me who spent the entire week writing this first chapter.

**Five Hargreeves**

*

She is doing it again, but this time she knows exactly what she is doing, making him tap his champagne flute with his index finger impatiently, his mouth going dry.

There is no one in this world that can catch Five Hargreeves attention quite like her. His eyes follow her slim form, with an almost predatory gleam, as she glides through the ballroom. A gentle smile on her lips that only endears her to everyone that settles their eyes on her, prompting the possessiveness inside him to fume and burn.

When she smiles nervously, hiding her face behind her hair at a couple who stops to greet her, he knows she is doing this on purpose. No one can look this innocent by nature.

Standing there, on the other side of the ballroom, with shy smiles and timid demeanour, she is controlling the most powerful man in the room, and there's no doubt in him she is aware of that.

**8:28 PM**

_Two hours earlier_

Five taps away at his phone, the pressure behind his fingers a little too excessive.

He is inside the limo, resting on the corner of the sectional seat, a petulant scowl on his face.

Despite his wealth, he loathes being driven anywhere, hating to sit idly, only conforming to it whenever he has to go to an event of some sort. He enjoys driving and often does, but arriving in a limo makes a statement. Because of the complex, ridiculous social expectations, he has to sit and entertain himself with his phone as Hazel drives them to their destination.

Tapping on the Twitter app, he reviews the tweet his social media team posted for him.

He aimlessly scrolls through the other tweets, wishing he could feel remotely excited as the tweet he didn't even write.

While it is his fifth time overseeing the event, the annual Umbrella charity party is far from his fifth attendance. From the time he could tie his shoes, his father made his, and that of his siblings, attendance, an obligatory duty. As a child, he hated attending, despising all the snobby, brain dead attendees. Now that he's thirty years old, he finds he still very much hates it.

His thumb stops scrolling, pausing at a tweet from some real estate hotshot, tagging the event.

With a scoff, he scrolls past it.

It isn't this event specifically. He hates social events, even the ones meant to bring some good to their crumbling society. He has tried many times to enjoy it, but he can't. He is a pragmatic man, always was, always will be. Being raised into a wealthy family, most people would think his privileged life sheltered him from the ugly side of the world, but that is quite the contrary. He sees fundraisers for what they are. An excuse for rich, influential members of society to get drunk, and gossip while feeling good about themselves. It's pathetic, but as the CEO of Umbrella corp, he has no choice but to be part of the same hypocrisy. Usually, it's just him now, his siblings not coming within a hundred feet distance of the event, but after their father reported that he will not be in attendance due to his worsening heart condition, the usual attendants were stricken by the news, all except for the seven children Reginald adopted, who demanded an invitation as soon as they heard the news.

Straightening his neck he looks from his phone to the other occupant in the car.

"Have you gotten a confirmation from the others?" He inquires, not needing to specify who the _others_ he is referring to are.

Unlike him, Dolores doesn't glance up from her phone as she answers, no doubts busy composing her own tweet.

"Apart from your brother Klaus, your other siblings have confirmed their attendance."

He nods but doesn't comment as his attention returns to the screen of his phone, a slight crease at the edge of his eyes, the only thing giving away the excitement that begins to bubble inside him. At that, Dolores peers over her phone but does not question him. She knows precisely what he's thinking, and which of his six siblings his interest lies in but decides to stay out of his business.

It's long, silent minutes later that he notices the distant glinting lights of the mansion up ahead, prompting him to fix his cufflinks.

"I want you to take care of all donations on behalf of the company, and the family," he orders.

She keeps tapping away at her phone, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Of course," she answers, not sounding at all surprised. After so many years as his assistant, she has more or less learned to read his mind. And he, a man who seldom displays his appreciation, recognizes that.

Before her, he went through several assistants, all crumbling under the pressure of what they claim are unrealistic expectations. A pathetic excuse. He prides himself on his expectations, demanding that everything runs around him like a well-oiled machine, all parts operating in tandem with one another. His previous assistants did not understand that, and for that, he was more than happy to let them go.

After firing his tenth assistant, Dolores' resume landed on his desk. At the moment she was a freshly graduated business student, no genuine experience to speak of. Usually, he would have tossed the application out the window. His standards are a minimum of five years of experience from all employees in every department. But given his animus reputation towards all business assistants everywhere, he had no choice but to give her a chance. When he interviewed her, her confident, no bullshit demeanour that matched his own amazed him. More intrigued than anything, he decided to give her a week's trial, expecting her to run out of the company doors on her first day. It's been six years and he can't imagine running the company without her.

As the tire of the limo change from smooth road to brick pavement, his phone vibrates in his hands and his brows sink together when he reads the tweet.

**9:43 PM**

_Now_

He blatantly stares at her, at the back of his mind, a faint voice admonishes him, reminding that he shouldn't be staring so openly but it sounds too much like static on a tv.

"I noticed the Umbrella corp has made a few investments in the oil business, Mr. Hargreeves. Trying to dip your fingers in yet another pie, eh?" One man beside him asks with laughter, and a tone of voice that cries, notice-me.

Around him is a group of men, all of them important business and company owners, all of them alphas, all vying for his attention like a hoard of needy school girls. It used to amuse him, but Five doesn't care less at that very moment. His eyes and attention are on the petite woman by the food table, all alone. It takes everything in his impeccable control and the perfect mask he maintains strapped to his face to stop himself from striding to her.

Vanya, his sister, _adopted_ sister _,_ is a beautiful woman all to herself. She does not require layers upon layers of makeup, nor expensive clothing to even appear remotely enticing, but even he can't find fault in the dress that is currently hugging her figure.

Vanya is wearing the white, off the shoulder dress he got her a few months ago. The dress itself cost him a fortune, being fitted with genuine diamonds around the bust, making them twinkle from the light of the overhead chandelier. But he doesn't care about the price, not when the dress compliments her so perfectly. But then again, she can wear any old rag and make it glow up with her beauty, and he knows that very well. When he gave it to her, he explicitly told her it's for his eyes only, being far too short, allowing him to appreciate her creamy legs and the diamonds making her small breast stand out. As expected, she made no such promises, but he knew not to worry, she never liked to wear dresses, to begin with. The fact that she is wearing it now tells him she knows exactly the kind of reaction that dress has on him and doesn't care.

Feeling his pants becoming a little too tight, he shifts his weight.

Love is blind, they often say, but he knows without a doubt that she is the most exquisite woman among the crowd of bland clones. Even her scent, he, unfortunately, cannot smell from where he is standing, is a blend of the most pungent, sweetest scent designed to bring an alpha such as him to his knees.

Before he really considers going over to her and crushing the complex play they've been performing since adolescence, becoming experts by now, he shifts his attention to his other siblings.

His eyes first land on Luther, _daddy's boy_. As per usual, he is following after Allison like a lost puppy, while she is beaming and chatting amiably to the other attendants. When he finds nothing of interest in them, he roams his eyes until they land on Ben and Klaus. Ben, who has for once stopped tapping away at his typewriter to attend, is standing beside Klaus, the black sheep of the family who is busy talking to old business partners of their dad who seem just as uncomfortable around Klaus, as he no doubts intends them to be. That was because he is wearing the most flamboyant pink dress to make a statement, not socially, although he is doing that, but to their father who always forced him to wear a black tux.

For a brief moment, he peers at Diego through the crowds, standing by the wall, wearing his police uniform, glaring down at everyone as he provides security for the event. But his attention is inevitably driven back to the Vanya. When it lands on her, the soft hum that had rolled around inside him when he had stared at her with yearning banished, overtaken instead by hot egoistical anger.

Besides him, someone makes him a question, but it goes through one ear and out the other. His eyes narrow at the sight before him.

While his attention was away from her, a blond man, he recognizes as the son of an important CEO he doesn't care remembering the name of, approached her, shattering the perfect picture of Vanya standing alone by the table.

Five flexes his fingers on the fragile bowl of the champagne flute.

Setting his jaw, he watches the man speaking to Vanya with rap attention as he progressively gets closer to her, giving her a toothy grin. Innocent, timid, too nice for her own good, Vanya doesn't even know the man is hitting on her. So when he says a joke and Vanya laughs, albeit a little awkwardly, he takes the opportunity to place his hand on her shoulder and strokes her bare skin with his thumb, and Five nearly loses it.

A spark of irrational anger bursts inside of him, nearly causing him to break the delicate glass in his hand. His alpha nature, and the selfish habit he's had since childhood, rearing its head, not liking that someone is touching what is his, demanding nothing short of going over there to snap the man's thumb. The only thing that keeps him from doing just that is that this is the twenty-first century, instincts such as these do not belong in a modern setting. And besides, long gone are the days he settles disputes with his fists.

He takes the last gulp of his drink, the smooth champagne sliding down his throat and places it on top of the plate of one of the attendants.

"Gentlemen," is all he says to excuse himself before leaving behind the circle of vultures. Behind him, he hears the group hastily say their goodbyes and asking him when they could discuss business, but he doesn't stop or listen.

Making a show of strolling through the ballroom, avoiding the food table, not going to her right away, he greets other people first so as not to make it obvious who he really wants to talk to. However, as he does, he keeps an eye on Vanya, gnashing his teeth when the man enters her personal space and Vanya shifts and twiddles her fingers, an old habit of hers whenever she's uncomfortable.

As he works his way to her, he notices with possessive pride as she becomes very still when he's close enough for her to take in his scent. Taking in a dissimulated whiff of the air, he's not doing much better when her omega scent hits him, nearly causing him to miss a step.

Eyes fixed on her back he's nearly possessed when she shudders, knowing his eyes are on her, but he clasps down on his control. He doesn't call her. Instead, he merely passes her by, the proximity oozing heat that makes his breathing catch, sure it would burn him if he touches her. He comes a hair away from brushing his arms against her, not even gazing down at her but he knows she notices him. He doesn't even look back or acknowledge the other alpha that eyes him wearily as he exits the hall and walks down the hall, feeling her eyes boring into the back of his head, ignoring the other man.

That makes him smirk.

Her eyes are on him, and only him, as it should be. In his youth he might have punched the other man in the nose, maybe even pulled a few strings to ensure his career never sees the light of day again, but in his age, he's appeased by the knowledge that it's him her eyes are on.

The halls are empty as he strolls through them. Usually, he would spot one or two couples going a little further than simple kissing, or men cheating on their wives in the shadowy corners, but the night is still young. As he reaches the washroom, on the other side of the large mansion, he slackens his tie, too tight around his neck.

Closing the door behind him with his foot, he leans back on the sink, arms crossed as he waits there, tapping his finger. He knows it will take her a few minutes to come after him, doing her best not to make it obvious where she is going. As usual, he feels a pang of frustration, and exasperation, making his finger twist in his sleeve whenever he thinks about all the trouble they have to go through to keep their relationship a secret.

Closing his eyes he inhales steadily through his nose to calm the rising anger inside him when he hears the soft, almost unsure click of heels against wood, and they fly open.

When the door parts open, he doesn't even look at her, barely even lets her close it as he takes her into his arms. The only sound she produces is a startled yelp as he spins them around. In a quarter of a second, he has her pressed against the sink, caged between his arms. His hands pressing on the countertop, legs parted on either side of her thighs. It's a controlling, demanding position, looming over her petite form, and yet he feels his muscles unwind as the stress of the day drains out of him. His doctor keeps prescribing him pills for stress, even he can't pronounce. Claiming that he needs them to function, but he refuses at every turn. He doesn't need any of that. All he needs is her, his special kind of drug.

Relief stirring strangely with arousal, he gives out a chest-deep hum.

"Did you enjoy your little game?" He growls into her ear, dipping his head to ghost his lips over her neck, right next to where her scent gland is. When he takes a whiff of her omega scent, mixed with the floral accent of her own scent, he's put at the edge of an endless abyss.

"Five…" she breathes. Whatever she was going to say fades into nothingness as he presses his lips against her scent gland and sucks harshly, ripping a low groan from her, doing terrible things to him in turn.

He came here with the plan to build her up, to chastise her for tempting him, not caring that all the important citizens of New York could see and catch on what was happening. Standing there, letting every alpha in the room get a peek of her perfect legs and creamy shoulders. He roams his lips down her neck, to her nape, leaving a trail of saliva on the way, and nips at the skin there, making her moan. He wants to edge her, but the demanding strain around his pants will not allow him to.

Moving his hands closer to her body, while still maintaining them on the counter, fingers clawing at the fine marble, he cages her even more.

She swallows thickly, sinking into him, making him purr. He knows she likes to be in his arms, enveloped by his scent and body, it soothes her, bringing her a sense of protection only an alpha can provide. And yet she is not melting fully into him as she often does.

"N-not here," she manages to breathe out, voice devoid of any conviction. Her chest lifting up and down, already panting. That only spurs him on. Hunger thrumming through his veins.

He isn't a good listener, never was. At board meetings, he often interrupts whenever he feels the person speaking is making an imbecilic comment, which is most of the time. He treats everyone more or less the same way. The only one saved from this treatment is her. When she speaks he always tries to listen, but there are times when he's unable to, like this one.

Finally, taking one of his hand from the counter, his fingers tingling after being relieved of the pressure he had been subjecting it to, he roams his palm down her curves, curling his fingers on her tiny hips and pushing her to him, letting her feel how hard he is for her.

They both moan softly, as his evident erection pressed against her ass.

"Yes, here." His voice comes out strained, letting her know how affected he is from the inside, as he continues to suck on her neck, giving her a hickey that hadn't been there before. "It's been so long." He grunts, rutting into her ass.

"I need my knot inside you."

She whines her response, becoming putty under him, her head lolling back against his shoulder, letting him kiss as much of her neck as he wants, as it should be.

He digs his finger onto her hip, almost bruising. She is his, every part of her body belongs to him. The only thing in this world that belongs to him willingly. If only everyone could know that too.

His body quakes, mind a hazy jumble of primal desire. He doesn't care about the logistics, not caring that it will take thirty minutes for his knot to go down, at which point people will wonder where they went. Making it likely to be discovered. But that doesn't matter at that moment, all he cares is that he needs her.

Lifting the other hand from the counter, he doesn't take his time to trail his finger up her body as he urgently fondles her breast through her dress, the hard, small diamonds digging into his palm. She moans and bites her bottom lips at that, but still doesn't relent so he pours as much of his alpha scent into the room, until the smell permeates the space, making her compliant. She whines softly, her rising omega scent affecting him in turn, making his eyes glint.

"You're mine," he whispers, almost like a prayer as he gazes up at the mirror before them, taking in her state with greedy eyes.

They haven't done anything, and she's already wrecked. Skin glinting in the light from sweat, the area around her clavicle a delightful tinge of pink from arousal, her neck covered in his saliva and red marks, it all serves to make the alpha inside him grumble with satisfaction. This is how she should look at all times, covered in his marks, letting every asshole know she is taken even if it's in name only.

Still staring at the mirror, his eyes land on her neck again. While it is now covered in hickeys, there is no bite mark, not mating mark to tell other alphas that she is taken, that she is his. A fact that always has the alpha in him howling with indignation. Being a part of him driven by lust, and primal impulses, it does not understand why he can't just mark her as his. Their omega wants them, they make her happy, so why can't he just make her theirs? Sometimes even he doesn't know the answer either. What he does know is that life is a cruel, wicked thing with a sense of morbid humour to boot. He has the money to buy anything, and the influence to do whatever he wants, except of course to have the one person he wants by his side.

Anger now added into the mix of emotions, his breathing quickens until she parts her lips and says.

"Alpha," she arches her back when the scent hits her hard again, rutting into him, offering herself up, giving the reasonable, poised part of him hand the control to the half-crazed alpha.

With a deep moan that turns into a growl, he hikes up her dress and shakily goes to unfasten his belt when someone knocks on the door and they both freeze mid-action.

"I know what you two are doing in there!" They both relax when they realize it's just Allison. "You both better come out before people start wondering where you went!"

They remain like that for a moment, like a couple of teenagers being caught in the act. When he hears Allison heels click against the wood, getting further, he gives his head a small shake to snap himself back and goes to continue his ministration on her neck. But when Vanya turns on the spot to face him, the spell he had put on her broken, he growls deeply.

She looks up at him, head inclining to one side slightly, the edges of her eyes wrinkling as she takes him in. He is pissed, and his face shows it. His brows are furrowed, his jaw is set and his nose is slightly flared, chest rising up and down. All those that work for him would be taken aback by his reaction, scurrying away from him but she doesn't. She presses her hand on his cheek and gives him a small, soft kiss. The softens of her lips calms the raging emotions.

"I want you Five, just not here," she explains tenderly. Her tone has the desired effect on his alpha side, making it croon, but not him. He's frustrated.

"If not here then when?" He asks, his voice sharp."I have to fly to Paris tomorrow to meet with one of our business partners, which means I won't be here for another two weeks."

She smiles weakly at him and fixes his tie with care, and attention as if it can in turn fix all their problems.

"I know, but you gotta be patient." She sets a kiss to the line of his jaw. "I'll still be here when you come back."

He huffs. The alpha side, that was purring like a kitten under Vanya's ministration, jerks on the spot, coming back at full charge when it hears what she just said. With indignation, and possessiveness it demands he sling her over his shoulder to take her home where he can fuck her in peace, repercussions be damned. He doesn't care if they see him, she is _his_.

He stumps down the damn thing.

"It shouldn't be this way, with all this secrecy" he slips her hair behind her ear and presses his hand there, pulling their foreheads together. "You're my _mate_."

Vanya shivers and licks her lips.

"And you're mine, two weeks apart won't change that" She assures and separates their foreheads to kiss the tip of his nose. "When you come back, you can show me just how much you missed me," she tells him coyly.

His lips curls, revealing a dangerous smirk as his spirits are somewhat lifted.

Bending down, he pushes their lips together into a heady kiss, taking her breath away, trying to put all his desires for her in one kiss. When he separates from her, his chest is heaving.

"I'll make sure of that."

After Vanya exits the washroom, he fixes himself and waits several minutes to leave. When he does he doesn't notice the faint flash of a camera coming from beyond the window.

*

**Harold Jenkins**

*

Wiping the exhaustion off his face, with a large cup of coffee on one hand and a manila file in the other, he marches through the newsroom, catching a few people looking up from their computers to cock a brow at him. He pays them no attention.

People continue to stare at him the further he goes, staring at his crumpled clothes, and dark bags under his eyes, not to mention the messy hair with one or two small branches sticking out of it. He must look like an absolute mess, but he doesn't care. Not when he has the story of the year in his hand.

Harold Jenkins, a photojournalist, wildcard of the newsroom, beta, is a man that is constantly on his feet, constantly working, constantly looking for the next big story especially if that story involves a certain family.

It is no secret to anyone that has worked with him that he's obsessed with the Hargreeves. Although he's not the only one, the world can't get enough of the famous family made up of seven adopted children, all successful in their own way, but where he differs from the rest of the world, is that he doesn't admire them, no. He absolutely can't stand the sight of them. It's a hatred stemming from a personal grudge of his, going back to his childhood.

Practically banging the door open, he strides into the office without permission and throws the manila file on the desk of the very annoyed, and confused news editor's desk.

"What the hell's this?" Rob, the editor asks, his brow raising.

"Conclusive evidence that Five Hargreeves is sleeping with his sister, Vanya Hargreeves."

Most people would have gawked, but Rob rolls his eyes. "Not this again," he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let me guess, you caught them having a conversation and somehow that means they're sleeping together?"

Harold does his best to keep his brow from twitching as the ever-familiar rage rises up inside him. He is well aware of his reputation in this company, long used to being the laughing stock, that doesn't mean it's any easier.

"No, I caught them exiting the washroom together," his voice is laced with frustration, like a child explaining himself to parents that don't believe a word he says.

Upon hearing his words, Rob raises an intrigued brow and grabs the folder from the desk, taking the pictures out to examine them, putting them up against the light.

"I don't see them exiting together," he tells him, still peering at the pictures as if trying to find something he sees that he doesn't.

Harold chews on the inside of his cheek.

"Well…" he took the pictures back to show him. "She came out of the washroom first, and he followed a couple of minutes af-"

Rob sighs, cutting him off as he sinks back on his chair and purses his lips, an expression he has seen countless times before, making him brace for what's to come.

"Do you really expect the public to believe that?" He raises a brow to emphasize his question. "Jenkins, the public is thick but not that thick, not when it comes to one of the world's most successful business mogul." Rob taps his finger on the desk.

"People-want-hard-evidence."

In his frustration, Harold can't keep the soft scoff from escaping his lips, gazing down at his shoes like some child in front of his principal's desk. He knew he wouldn't believe him, no one does. No one sees past the perfect illusion that is the Hargreeves family.

"And besides." Rob steeples his fingers. "We're not some second-tier magazine that makes its money tarnishing celebrities' reputation with half-truths and gossip."

"So unless you have conclusive evidence that Five Hargreeves and Vanya Hargreeves are sleeping together, then don't bother bringing me any more of this conspiracy crap again or you're fired. Understood Jenkins?"

Harold tucks the file under his arm, his face schooled into an unreadable one.

"I said, is that understood, Jenkins?"

"Crystal, _sir."_

For a second Rob eyes him.

"Good, now get out of my face."

Exiting the office, the people around the newsroom stifle laughs as he passes them by, making him grit his teeth. The only thing that kept him from snapping after years of being subjected to their ridicule, is the golden opportunity he finds himself with.

Walking out of the building, and onto the winter air, he trudges through the thawing snow.

In his year as an editor he has made his fair share of wild theories, and stories, but despite that, he never once expected this. When he learned about it he had been so giddy, like a child on Christmas.

Who would have thought, Five, billionaire, playboy, genius, is having an incestuous relationship with his dear sister? It's just too much, it almost feels like some tv show. Of course, they're not related by blood, but the public won't care. They'll see the words incest, and they'll crucify the entire family. Rob doesn't understand that, but when he does it'll be too late.

Harold tucks his hands inside his pocket, lifting his shoulders to cover his face from the cold. Under all his frustration, he starts to feel a sense of hope and excitement rise up inside him as the edges of his lips curls.

This is what he's been looking for, a chink in the perfect Hargreeves armour. And now that he's found it, he will fester in it, eating away at the metal until the hole becomes large enough to make a blow that they'll be feeling for years to come. And he'll do that by writing his own story, and posting it online, all he needs is to gather more solid evidence and he knows exactly where to get that.

He takes out his phone and opens up the email app.

He wasn't sure about doing it before, but now he's convinced this is the only logical course of action, and besides, what does he have to lose? He'll have to befriend Vanya Hargreeves and get the evidence he needs.


End file.
